


The Ballad of Mona Lisa

by wellthisisprettyrisque (collettephinz)



Series: The Allocation of Exsanguination [1]
Category: Bandom, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), Panic! at the Disco, The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Emotional Trauma, F/M, Hurt, M/M, Mentions of Rape, Pain, Past Torture, Physical Trauma, Redemption, Trauma, hidden identity, no comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 20:34:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1831363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collettephinz/pseuds/wellthisisprettyrisque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically, the zones are harsh and Brendon doesn't understand that for whatever reason but Dallon doesn't want him to because he knows what you have to lose to see the world for what it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ballad of Mona Lisa

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from "Nearly Witches (Ever Since We Met)," preformed by Panic! at the Disco, written by Ryan Ross and Pete Wentz.

Dallon was driving his old Z28, racer red Camaro with Brendon in the passenger seat, Breezy behind the driver's with her legs propped up, and Spencer snoring in the seat behind Brendon. There was that ever-present, sweltering hot “breeze” that you got when you drove with the windows down. They were on the move, always on the move, acting as the self-appointed sheriffs of the zones, because too many crazy people escaped Battery City only to wind up making things so much worse for the people who were just trying to survive without pills in their bodies.

Brendon was staring out the window with a content smile. “I kinda like the zones,” he said, and Dallon had a hard time figuring out where his brain had come to that conclusion, because no one liked the zones. Not with memories of how it was before. Dallon hated the zones especially because they'd taken away his son and daughter and nearly the love of his wife. Breezy only barely escaped that little escapade with a huge scar running up her entire right side, reaching her jaw and stretching as low as her mid thigh. 

Dallon hated the zones. He couldn't figure out why Brendon liked them.

“It's like the cleanest slate you could possibly ever get, you know?” Brendon continued, staring out at the passing desert through his blacked out pilot goggles. “Doesn't matter what life you had before or who you knew. It's all gone now. Nothing can come back to haunt you once it's been killed twice.”

Dallon wondered if he was talking about Sarah. Brendon's wife had been visiting friends up on the East Coast when the first bomb had dropped. No one knew what had happened to the lovely girl, but Dallon knew that Brendon wasn't nearly as accepting of her disappearance (and possible death) as he was making himself out to be. 

“It's like the world was flooded again,” Brendon sighed almost happily. He was tapping out a rhythm Dallon couldn't name against the dashboard, his legs crossed up on the seat. “It's like it was flooded again, but with acid, so nothing could grow back. Like the reset button was hit for real this time.” 

Brendon's smile was almost manic. “I like it.”

Dallon didn't know if he liked the zones or not after this talk, but he definitely didn't like where Brendon's head was at, though he definitely wasn't surprised.

 

 

“We've basically shot the engine,” Spencer was saying with a heavy sigh, arms up to brace himself against the raised hood as he looked down into the car with a forlorn expression. “Practically no oil left, the valves are sticking worse than a kid eating ice cream in the summer, the bearings are worn so bad that I can hardly recognize them anymore, and the spark plug is about as dead as we'll be soon if we don't get some new, functioning parts.”

“So we've gotta steal,” Brendon supplied cheerfully, sitting atop the car itself, obstructed from view. Spencer slammed the hood down and shot Brendon a look.

“How the fuck are we gonna find all of those parts?” Spencer demanded. He'd become the pessimist to Brendon's optimism while Dallon and Breezy stuck to reality. “Let alone get each one and come out unscathed! We've only got so many batteries and the Dracs are doubling their patrols ever since Party Poison and Fun Ghoul grabbed Jet Star and Kobra Kid from the penitentiary! None of us are world class thieves, North, we can't do this shit!”

Brendon slid from atop the roof with a huff. “You don't have to call me by that codename when it's just us,” was all he said, lip turned out in a pout, and sometimes Dallon really wished Brendon had grown up after the world ended. But only sometimes.

“Father North,” Spencer bit out tersely with a finger jabbed in Brendon's direction. Then he pointed to himself. “Sand Piper.” He pointed to Breezy. “City Slicker,” and then finally to Dallon. “Mama Bear.”

Dallon scrunched his nose up in disgust and Breezy giggled. “It's been years,” Dallon griped. “I never chose Mama Bear. You guys chose it for me.”

“Would you prefer just Daddy?” Brendon asked him cheerfully. Dallon threw his hands up in surrender as both Breezy and Brendon laughed. He could take a little humiliation in return for their amusement. Especially Breezy's.

“We need to find someone who can steal,” his wife suddenly cut in, laughter dying naturally as she threw herself into the problem. “Someone really good, you know? A slipper guy or girl that can get in and out of anywhere, no problem.”

“And isn't too expensive,” Spencer grumbled. 

“We could ask the Doc?” Brendon suggested, practically bouncing on his feet at the prospect of a visit to Dr. Death Defying. Brendon especially loved that man because of how he talked and the colours he chose to decorate his hideouts, insofar that he would talk with the Doc for hours on end and well into the morning, waking everyone up with his bright laughter and excited rambling.

Brendon was the like the last star in a slowly dying universe that refused to burn out. Not even the end of the world could bring him down.

“Let's go see him tomorrow,” Breezy agreed with a fond smile directed at Brendon, though the smile was also achingly sad. Dallon felt sick looking at it and once again cursed the zones and whoever let this happen for taking their children away.

“Get some sleep,” Dallon said instead, resting a hand on Breezy's arm. She was wearing her mask too, so Dallon couldn't exactly see her eyes when she turned to him, but he knew their gazes met. It was an instinctual warmth that filled him, even if he couldn't see her eyes.”I'll keep watch.”

Breezy nodded and climbed into the backseat while Spencer slept in the diver's and Brendon in the passenger's as Dallon sat on the hood and begrudgingly appreciated the stars you could only see once civilization ended.

\- - -

It was early morning when the three in the car roused and climbed out, stretching achingly sore limbs while Dallon watched them with an amused smirk. He wasn't much better off, granted, but it was still fun for him to observe silently.

After a quick wake-up drink of the watered down shit that passed as coffee in the zones, they all climbed back into the car and headed out for the last place the Doc had been. It was his regular shack and Brendon was as excited as a small child heading to Disneyland, bouncing in his seat and being all-around extremely annoying to Spencer, who was driving so Dallon could rest in the back with his wife. 

Of course, Brendon wasn't being that annoying. Spencer was just a lot less happy ever since things fell apart. He'd really slimmed down, and it was like his ability to laugh and gone with the baby fat. He didn't smile much, didn't talk about music or friends or family like they usually would at night. He didn't crack jokes or laugh at Brendon's, and he didn't appreciate the little things they would get sometimes, like a bottle of fresh water or an apple from a plantation. It was like all hope had died with the world and Dallon didn't know how to help him get it back. 

This problem was the main issue at the front of Dallon's mind as they approached the Doc's shack. He was there, thankfully, and Show Pony even rolled out to greet them, hanging onto Brendon's hands to roll back to the shack, both men laughing like children. The Doc waved them in with outstretched arms and a wide smile.

“It's the Asshole Patrol!” the old man announced, chuckling at the nickname he'd given the runners. “How have my favorite good-doers been? No static to be heard?”

“It's all milkshake,” Brendon told him with a wide grin to match, launching himself in for a hug that was careful only if you squinted. “We need your help, Doc!”

“Name one tumbleweed that doesn't need it, and I'll sell you a pop,” the Doc shot back. “What can I do for the terrible two and the boys?”

Breezy giggled at the reference to her and Dallon, leaning against his side cozily, and Dallon still thanked whatever was up there that he hadn't lost this. “We need a thief,” she told the Doc. “Our car is on its last stretch. We need some parts to keep her going.”

The Doc frowned. “Well, I know this one little viper,” he began slowly. “Kinda pricey, but he gets it done, and he gets it done well. Safely, too. You hire him, you don't need to do nothin' but be his getaway. Kinda gruff, bit unfriendly, but who isn't these days? He can get it all, if you're willing.”

“We're willing,” Brendon said before Spencer could even get a word in. Dallon was grateful for that. Spencer would only nitpick and tear down-- he wasn't big on letting anyone into the little group, no matter how temporary the person was. “What's his name?”

“Mona Lisa,” Doc told them, and Brendon and Spencer both gave this little lurch in surprise.

“Where can we find him?” Breezy asked calmly, ignoring the other two's little freak out.

“Where else do you find a wanderer these days? Factory X.”

\- - -

Factory X could be described as sleazy at best, but they needed this guy. 

Mona Lisa.

Brendon had been oddly silent the entire ride over, staring out the passenger window and possibly thinking about things he didn't want to. Dallon felt a bit sorry for him. All that talk about the past never being able to rear its ugly head again, and yet there they were. Tracking down a man bearing a name that hit a bit too close to home for anyone in the slowly-dying car.

The place itself was whatever. Dallon didn't really pay attention. Spencer and Breezy stayed with the car because Dallon did not want her anyone near this place, especially alone, so he and Brendon were heading towards the back, to the creaky tables and the bar.

“Is Mona Lisa here?” Brendon asked a particularly worn looking bar maid, her eyes exhausted even from behind her mask. She jerked her head in the direction of a single man sitting alone in a crummy booth and Brendon thanked her once, tossed down a battery that they couldn't really afford to give, and went to the lone man. He sat himself down with a cheeky grin.

“Hi,” Brendon said casually, sticking out his hand. “I'm Father North. This is my Running Man, Mama Bear. We would like to acquire your services, kind sir.”

Dallon groaned and hated himself for not taking charge of this meeting. He half expected the guy to just get up and walk away, or maybe even tell them they'd gotten the wrong guy, but after a long moment of silence, Dallon forced himself to look up and see what was wrong. 

Mona Lisa seemed pretty tall and was incredibly skinny. His mask was just white, covering mouth his eyes and his right face, like the mask of the Phantom of the Opera. Unlike a lot of runners, his clothes lacked a surprising amount of colour. Just blacks in leather and cotton, black skinny jeans that were tucked into rugged, black boots. Dallon figured this made sense since he was a thief. 

What was odd was the way Mona Lisa was staring at Brendon. His mouth had fallen open, thin lips revealing two large front teeth. Dallon couldn't see his eyes at all, and there was probably a thin veil of sheer black cloth behind the eyes, because even in this shitty lighting Dallon was usually able to make out some colour. But he couldn't see anything. And he had no idea why this guy was staring at Brendon like that.

“Wh-what?” the guy croaked out, his voice sounding shaky and abused. Dallon didn't recognize his voice, and neither did Brendon, so they couldn't know this man. 

“We wanna pay you to steal some stuff for us?” Brendon pressed carefully, eyeing Mona Lisa like the guy was a headcase that needed some pills and maybe a decent therapist. Mona Lisa visibly shook himself before he looked down at his hands, then up at Brendon, then back to his hands, then Dallon, then Brendon, his mouth still hanging open before he finally spoke again.

“What do y-you need?”

The question came out so achingly small that Dallon almost would have identified Mona Lisa's wrecked voice as sad, but he didn't know the guy so he couldn't. “Car parts,” Dallon cut in, just to keep things rolling and keep the guy talking. “Spark plugs, valves, oil, and bearings.”

Mona Lisa nodded slowly. “Got the l-locations?”

Fuck, someone really must have messed up his throat or something. His voice was sounding more and more like nails in a blender, and it had to be painful to talk like that, and that stutter was probably chronic. Dallon knew it would be considered rude and a breach of this man's privacy to ask, but shit. “Three separate places,” he said instead, pulling out a folded up map Doc had given him with the warehouses. He opened it and laid it on the table in front of him. “All somewhat heavily guarded. We just get you there and back, right?”

The man nodded, pulling the map closer to himself with two, longer fingers that were partially hidden by black, motorcycle gloves. “Just b-be in the car to get the hell outta dodge.” He paused. “Your ride is okay, r-r-right?”

Brendon shrugged and it maked Dallon want to smack the back of his head, because they need this guy to agree to help them or they were screwed. None of them were any good at the whole in-and-out, super silent and sneaky thing, and they weren't going to acquire any sort of ninja skills any time soon. They needed Mona Lisa to do this for them. If the car wasn't trustworthy, the client wasn't trustworthy.

But then Mona Lisa just stared at Brendon for three moments too long and shrugged back. “Oh well.”

And that was how the deal was sealed-- with an offhanded shrug, an oh well, and Mona Lisa's apparently uncanny willingness to throw himself into danger as long as he got to stare at Brendon more. 

\- - -

They decided to work their way up the list; start with the least heavily guarded storage facility and gradually upgrade, like the increasing difficulty in the levels of a video game. Mona Lisa seemed okay with the plan, and he started staring at Spencer too, but Dallon just figured the guy was rather lenient with his relationships and was sizing Brendon and Spencer up for a possible tumble in the haystack.

Mona Lisa was behind the Camaro as they drove to the first facility, seated on his matte black motorcycle that looked like it used to hold a Drac that had met a rather unfortunate end. There were no mirrors on the cycle, nothing to give off a reflection or a flash of light. Even his headlights were black out with paint. 

Brendon was sitting in the front of Dallon, glancing back at Mona Lisa every now and again and talking animatedly about the man, moving his hands almost as quickly as his mouth, talking about how he needed some colour and a speech therapist. Dallon felt like it was kinda rude to talk about how the man spoke like that, talk about the speech impediment like it was Mona Lisa's fault for not trying to fix it, but he wouldn't tell Brendon otherwise. He knew Brendon was feeling a bit nervous about the heist tonight and he needed to blow off the steam as best as he could.

“Think he's actually any good?” Spencer asked them from the back. He'd been the most wary of all of them when it came to trusting this random stranger with their problems. And Dallon had basically growled at him when Breezy had walked up to introduce herself, so Spencer being the most wary really meant something. 

“Do we have a choice?” Brendon shot back, fiddling with the fraying edges of the cushion for his goggles. Spencer sighed. He knew they didn't. 

They waited for nightfall before the final approach to the warehouse because Mona Lisa wore all that black for a reason. Dallon wasn't sure if he had night vision goggles, but the man seemed to know his way around the shadows, and fuck, he walked like a fucking specter. He'd crept up on Dallon and Spencer and had stood around for a solid few minutes before finally letting out this soft sigh that nearly had them both jumping out of their boots.

Now, Mona Lisa was slipping off into the night, heading towards the warehouse and none of them could see him anymore. 

Though not for lack of trying-- Brendon was squinting and moving every which way to try and see if he could make out a silhouette or something. He probably hadn't succeeded so far, probably wouldn't. Dallon was finding a sense of faith in Mona Lisa's skills that he hadn't expected to feel so early. But he wasn't complaining. They needed him and they needed these parts. Hopefully they'd get everything they needed and escape unscathed. 

Thirty minutes in and Dallon's faith was dwindling. 

There had been no movement, no noise, not even a sign that Mona Lisa had gotten in and Dallon was getting antsy. Breezy was nervous, Spencer was literally ready to get in the car and fucking leave. Brendon was the only person still patiently waiting without even the slightest damper on his hope. 

They probably should have listened to Brendon and held the faith a bit longer, because a split second later and Mona Lisa was standing in front of them with the plugs shoved in the pockets of his jacket. And still no sound came from the storage facility.

“Told you he had to be good,” Brendon told them with a self-satisfied grin. Mona Lisa stared at Brendon so long that Dallon could almost see the want he knew was in the eyes he couldn't actually see. He almost felt sorry for Mona Lisa because he seemed to have already written Brendon off as unattainable. Too bad. Brendon could have used someone good in his life like that.

“You're a magician,” Brendon continued to gush, taking the spark plugs and handing them to Spencer like they were something to be revered. Dallon glanced to Mona Lisa and thought he might have smiled for a second.

“N-n-next one tomorrow?” the man suggested in his gravelly voice. Spencer only nodded his approval while Brendon rushed to Mona Lisa's side and wrapped a hand around his shoulder. 

“You're gonna be our ace in the hole!” Brendon was crowing, a triumphant fist in the air. “A lord a savior, bow to our Mona Lisa, so says Father North!” The religious trope Brendon was sticking to had a certain ring to it that made Dallon smile. It reminded him of the musical days before the world ended and Brendon would find ways to connect everything in a beautifully artistic way that would get the entire band thrumming with energy. 

But Dallon couldn't think about those days too long or he'd lose himself. 

\- - -

“Let's discuss payment,” Spencer said the next morning, crossing his arms and doing his best to look intimidating. It was hard with how his own mask looked like a clown had vomited on it. “How much will this cost us?”

Mona Lisa didn't say anything. He stared at Spencer before looking to the floor and giving a halfhearted shrug. “N-n-not m-much,” he said, struggling to get out his words a bit more than usual. “W-we can discuss it l-l-later.”

Spencer's frown deepened. “Why do you talk like that?”

Mona Lisa was silent for a long moment before he pulled down the collar of his leather jacket and showed them all a nasty scar that stretched across his neck, slicing over the jugular. Brendon winced and Dallon wanted to punch Spencer for being so fucking rude. 

“BL/Ind?” Brendon asked carefully. Mona Lisa shook his head and put the collar back in its place.

“Z-zone runners,” he corrected before looking to the ground with shaking hands and that was when Dallon decided the conversation was over. He pulled Spencer away and laid into him after telling Brendon to sit with Mona Lisa and try to remedy their partnership before Mona Lisa decided they were all assholes and left them before the job was finished.

\- - -

Dallon returned from chewing Spencer out to find Mona Lisa and Brendon sitting on the dirt together and drawing in the sand with their fingers. Well, Brendon was drawing. Mona Lisa was more or less staring at Brendon whenever he thought Brendon wasn't looking. This wasn't mystifying or acceptable anymore-- Dallon was downright suspicious. He just needed one more thing and then he'd be on Mona Lisa with enough demands to rival a scientist with a foreign species in their hands. 

\- - -

The second run didn't go as well as the first and it wasn't even Mona Lisa's fault.

That's what Dallon kept screaming at Spencer as they drove away from the storage facility, up two valves and a new set of bearings, down a lot of blood and a new way to hear Mona Lisa's voice.

The pain in his little whimpers was so offsetting that Dallon couldn't manage to drive straight in the darkness, Breezy had been forced to take over. Dallon couldn't imagine the pain Mona Lisa was in, with the huge gash in his upper arm. It really hadn't even been Mona's fault. It had honestly been his.

They'd known this heist was going to be a bit more difficult than the last one just because that was they way they'd set it up. Start from the bottom and make their way up. That being said, this facility had a few more (tens of) Dracs patrolling with some nifty video security and motion sensors. Mona Lisa had made it through all of that perfectly well until Dallon had accidentally shoved Spencer for an asshole comment the man had made and that's when Spencer's ray gun had hit the ground and gone off and that's when everything had gone to hell. 

Mona Lisa had taken longer to get out because he'd refused to leave without the necessary parts; that was more than any of them could ever ask for from the man who was still a total stranger. That's more than anything a total stranger would ever do for them.

Which honestly had Dallon's head spinning, but he'd address that tomorrow.

Now, Dallon was more focused on patching Mona's arm up and getting Brendon to calm down. Spencer was in the front passenger seat and Mona Lisa was sitting between Dallon and Brendon in the back. He was quiet, for the most part, even as Dallon pulled the singed material of his shirt from the wound. Bits of melted fabric clung and tore and Dallon winced with each movement, but Mona Lisa sat impossibly still and hardly let out more than a whimper from the back of his throat. 

Come to think of it, he was too still. 

Dallon looked away from the wound and searched what he could see of Mona's face and felt sick. He didn't know much about the other man, but he could recognize the latent and instinctual terror on his expression, his skin sickly pale. Mona Lisa was biting his lower lip so hard that a trail of blood slipped down his chin. His entire body was shaking with what probably wasn't pain now that Dallon thought about it. Then he took in the way he was sitting-- his knees curled into his chest, his uninjured arm wrapped protectively around his middle and Dallon remembered reading something on sexually abused foster kids back in the day and recognized all the signs, adding them up to a conclusion that made Dallon want to force the car over so he could vomit.

“It'll be okay,” he said instead, keeping his tone low and comforting like he would whenever his kids had a nightmare. “We won't hurt you.”

Mona Lisa looked to him, and though Dallon couldn't see his eyes, and he what would be there if he could. So Dallon gave him a firm nod before looking back to the wound and setting about cleaning it. The last thing he wanted was to have this man leaving them worse than they'd found him. He didn't know what Spencer's fucking problem was these days, but they were not those types of people-- they didn't use people for all they were worth only to toss them aside to die. They weren't monsters.

Dallon looked at Mona Lisa's face and solidified this thought. “We're not monsters,” he said mostly to himself, though it was loud enough for Brendon and Mona to hear. They didn't say anything, though through his panic, Brendon looked ready to agree.

\- - -

They pushed the final heist back a day and Brendon left with Spencer and Breezy to scout the area so they wouldn't be blindsided like last time. Dallon and Mona Lisa were back at their little camp that was set up beside a pretty shitty gas station, Mona's cycle propped up in the back with Mona himself sitting on the counter top, pretending to rest. Dallon figured it was just as well that Mona couldn't sleep much, because he'd volunteered to stay behind for a reason.

“I'm sorry,” Dallon began. “But I have to ask you a few questions. And you might not want to answer them, and I'm not going to force you to, but just...” Mona Lisa sighed and pushed himself off the counter with an audible wince before he reached up and took off his mask for the first time.

Dallon wasn't surprised when he saw a much more tortured looking Ryan Ross behind the mask.

He looked so much older than Dallon last remembered him looking. The bags under his eyes were so evident that they looked more like they'd come from a fight than nights of insomnia. His eyes were dull and his face was gaunt, cheekbones becoming the most arresting feature on his face. His expression was lifeless and empty and Dallon felt words escape him, so he just pulled off his own mask and waited while he gathered his thoughts.

“... Why didn't you say anything?” was the first question he settled on. 

Ryan didn't answer at first. Then he shrugged and walked aimlessly away from the counter, heading to his cycle to trace his fingers over the muscled grooves of the metal. “N-no one would be happy t-t-to see me,” he finally said.

Dallon frowned. “That kinda sounds like the biggest load of bullshit I've heard in awhile,” and Ryan smiled at how blunt Dallon was being, though it didn't reach his eyes. “The world ended, Ryan,” Dallon continued impatiently. “Brendon would be ecstatic to see you. Spencer would probably piss himself. And you're just going to stand back and watch them be miserable?”

“B-Brendon's happy,” Ryan argued softly. “A-a-and so is Spencer, h-he just doesn't show it. H-he'll be better once I-I'm gone.”

“But what about you?” Dallon shot back. “Fuck, you got cut up by the people that are supposed to be our allies, and, and maybe worse?”

Ryan flinched at that last part and looked to Dallon with a new air of wariness. “Wh-what do you think you kn-know?”

“I know that you probably have to bite your tongue against Brendon touching you,” Dallon said gently, taking slow steps towards him. “I know you don't trust anyone even near you and I know that this mistrust is totally rational. And I know that...” He sighed and bit the bullet. “... Ryan, you shouldn't try to cope with what they did to you on your own.”

Ryan's expression closed off so quickly that Dallon almost got whiplash. “I-it doesn't matter,” he said as firmly as he could with the stutter and the way he was trying to shrink into himself. “It's over. They c-can't get to me a-again and it's o-over.” He looked up at Dallon as defiantly as he could, chin set firm as the rest of his body shook. “I-I'm just helping you guys g-g-get the shit you need, and th-that's it.”

“And another thing,” Dallon interjected, stepping closer. “You're not even gonna make us pay, are you? I could fucking hear it in your voice-- if you don't want Spencer and Brendon to know who you are, then you make them pay for all of this, otherwise they're gonna know something's up!”

“Still d-doesn't matter,” and Ryan was moving away from him now, slow steps backwards to match Dallon's approaching ones. Fuck, the world probably had fucked him up for anyone.

“It matters if you're going to hurt Brendon by just up and leaving once you're done with us!”

Ryan's expression fell from guarded to hurt to empty again and Dallon was a bit upset with himself for making him look like that, but he knew it was necessary to get his point across. Dallon knew all the stories and he'd been there for the aftermath, but he really believed Ryan could be good for Spencer and Brendon, especially now. Especially after the world had fallen apart and every little thing began to count for gold.

“I-I'm better off out of their l-lives,” he said in a tiny voice that sounded so much worse with the way his throat was cut up. “Y-y-you know that.”

Dallon shook his head. “No I don't. And neither do you.”

Ryan only shook his head and put his mask back on before walking to the corner by his bike and sliding down to the floor. It was the universally recognized sign that someone was done talking and Dallon turned away with a defeated sigh.

\- - -

Ryan was running from the building with his mask on when it happened. 

Breezy and Spencer were supposed to have parked the car a safe distance from the facility (not storage area, a fucking facility because oil was only kept in places that needed it to function and that always spelled for a lot of activity and dangerous situations) but apparently hadn't known what was safe enough and had parked too close. Too close meaning they were still in the sights of the long range weapons that these specially armed Dracs were using.

And Ryan had probably seen this coming, because Dallon knew he'd seen the shot before it hit home. Dallon could even see where it would have hit Brendon if it had even hit Brendon at all. Right above the sternum, a decidedly fatal wound with all the medical jumbo they knew, which was next to nothing. At first, Dallon had been outright overjoyed to see that it hadn't hit Brendon. 

Then he saw Ryan fall to the dirt with blood in his hair and on his white mask and Dallon wasn't so happy anymore. The force of hitting the ground face first snapped the string that held Ryan's mask to his face and Brendon was hit with dual shock when he pulled Mona Lisa into his arms.

Now Brendon had Ryan back, and Ryan was dying.

No one hesitated in getting the car to start. Spencer stooped to his knees to help pick Ryan up and carry him to the back seat, lying his head in Brendon's lap and propping Ryan's legs up in his own. Dallon clamored into the front passenger seat and Breezy slammed the gas pedal, getting them the hell out of there, tire kicking up dirt and blood as they disappeared into the desert.

Spencer pulled the keg of oil that was clutched in Ryan's white hand and set it on the ground. It was disturbing how he wasn't crying, not like Brendon was (Brendon was fucking sobbing and Dallon's heart clenched with each hitch in the man's breath) but Dallon also knew that reality hadn't hit Spencer yet, and it probably wouldn't for a while. Not like this.

“H-hi,” Ryan choked out, blood spilling from his lips as he foolishly used his last strength to look up at Brendon without his mask separating them. Brendon pulled off his goggles and that was all it took for him to break.

He contorted his spine and kissed Ryan as hard as he could, paying no heed to the blood. He kissed Ryan until Dallon was sure Ryan couldn't feel anything but the other man's lips. Brendon kissed Ryan, just kept kissing him and kissing him, pulling back to whisper things against Ryan's lips and touch his face, sobbing and struggling to breathe, but still kissing Ryan.

Then Ryan's body went limp and he stopped kissing back; the scream of agony Brendon let out against Ryan's lips tore holes in Dallon's heart.

\- - -

Dallon was driving his old Z28, racer red Camaro with Brendon in the passenger seat, Breezy behind the driver's with her legs propped up, and Spencer snoring in the seat behind Brendon. There was that ever-present, sweltering hot “breeze” that you got when you drove with the windows down. They were on the move, always on the move.

Brendon was staring at the window with an empty expression that had marred his face since the day Ryan Ross died in his arms after taking a shot that should have killed Brendon, not Ryan. 

Brendon didn't laugh anymore. He didn't annoy Spencer or joke around or goof off. He didn't sit on top of the car and give commentary for everything he saw. He didn't ride with Show Pony or talk about nothing with Dr. Death Defying. He didn't smile and he hardly ever spoke. He was the star that had finally burned out in the already dead universe.

Brendon was staring out the window with an empty expression. “I hate the zones,” Brendon said, and Dallon couldn't agree more.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry not sorry
> 
> sorry


End file.
